Dear ,

There's a particular kind of loneliness that shows up around the holidays.

Not the loneliness of being physically alone—though that's real too.

I'm talking about the loneliness:

of sitting at a table full of people and feeling entirely unseen.

Of performing joy you don't feel.

Of navigating family systems that haven't changed even though you have.

Of smiling through traditions that once meant something but now just... don't.

For those of us carrying trauma, Christmas can be especially complicated. The pressure to be grateful, to reconcile, to show up in ways that don't honor where we actually are can reactivate old survival patterns. The need to "hold it together." To make others comfortable. To pretend.

And the grief—for the childhood Christmas that never was, for the family that can't hold you the way you need, for the version of yourself who believed the season's promises—that grief doesn't take a holiday just because everyone else is celebrating.

I want to say this clearly: You don't have to celebrate the way you always have.

This year, I've made a choice. I'm moving away from the facade of Christmas and holidays in general, and toward a space where I can reflect and feel safe.

I'll be spending Christmas camping at Hope Bay—planting the land as part of our post-Hurricane Melissa recovery work. I've invited other families, people who are alone, and people who find Christmas triggering to join me.

We're reimagining the day entirely: meaningful work, intentional community, and a living Christmas gift to the people of Jamaica—making sure we'll have food to eat in the months ahead.

No performance. No obligation. Just presence.

I'm not suggesting you need to do what I'm doing. But I am inviting you to ask yourself: What would feel true for me this year?

Maybe it's saying no to a gathering that depletes you.

Maybe it's creating a new ritual that actually honors where you are.

Maybe it's spending the day alone—intentionally, without shame.

Maybe it's reaching out to one person who really sees you instead of performing for many who don't.

There's no wrong answer. Only what's honest.

If you're feeling the weight of this season—the loneliness, the grief, the pressure to be something you're not—I want you to know you've been given the gift of clarity. so pleaaaseee - don't think of yourself as a failure.

Clarity, even when it's uncomfortable, is a gift.

You're allowed to protect your heart. You're allowed to reimagine what celebration means. You're allowed to choose safety over tradition.

I'll be thinking of you this season—wherever you are, however you're navigating it.

With care,

Dr Sandra Hamilton

Cultivating Confidence and Power